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"You just got here."

"And I've already assessed the situation and determined it's a threat to my wellbeing. Time to go."

"Harper."

"Fine. But I'm documenting this for future reference. When I'm traumatized later, I'm blaming you."

Mia just patted my shoulder and headed for the kitchen. Traitor.

I followed her, scanning the ridiculous kitchen for the bar setup. Found it on the massive marble island and immediately started making myself a vodka soda. Extra vodka. This was going to be a long night.

That's when I noticed Cam standing by the counter eating grapes like she was auditioning for a Renaissance painting.

She was in casual jeans and a fitted white t-shirt, hair down again, looking unfairly attractive in the most annoying way possible. She glanced up when I walked in, and I watched her eyes track over me, making my skin heat up.

"Instagram," she said, by way of greeting.

"Captain Miserable," I replied, taking a deliberately large sip of my drink.

"That's not my name."

"It's what I'm calling you until you give me a reason to stop."

"I have a perfectly good name."

"So do I, but you keep calling me Instagram like it's an insult."

"It is an insult."

"Then Captain Miserable is also an insult. See? We're even. We're bonding. This is what growth looks like."

Cam's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Not quite. "You're exhausting."

"Thank you. I work very hard at it."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'm taking it as one anyway. Can't stop me."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both. You wouldn’t dare." I grabbed a piece of cheese from a platter. "So. Game night. You do this often? Hang out with normal people and pretend you're not basically a celebrity?"

"I'm not a celebrity."

"You have two million Instagram followers."

"How do you know that?"

Oh no. Abort. Abort mission.

"I looked you up," I said, going for casual and probably missing by a mile. "After our first fight. Wanted to see what kind of person attacks strangers in tunnels. Turns out, the kind with a very boring Instagram presence."

"It's professional."

"It's sterile, dude.”

"At least I don't post pictures of my coffee every day."